


As soft as silk, as strong as iron

by Luce_cm



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29843427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luce_cm/pseuds/Luce_cm
Summary: Just smut of Ivar as a sub, set in a modern AU
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	As soft as silk, as strong as iron

Your body still trembles in the aftershocks as you come down from your high, and your hands grip tightly at Ivar’s still, fingers intertwined.

You open your eyes, and the first thing you see is the contrast of his hand on yours, and the red silk wrapped tightly around his wrists, keeping his arms tied to the headboard.

The sight is enough to send another little shock of heat through you.

And when you lower your gaze, find him licking his lips chasing the taste of you, the same red silk covering his eyes and leaving him vulnerable to you and whatever you want to do to him; it only makes you want him even more, even if he just made you come with his skillful mouth.

You move further down his body, putting your hands instead of your thighs on either side of his head.

To see him like this, surrendering and _yours_ , it will never cease to amaze you, to send a pang of pride and heat through you, to leave you dazed and content.

Because…Gods, he was made for this, for submission. The perfect angle of his jaw as he tilts his head back surrendering to the pleasure you give him, the curve of his throat under your hand as he chokes back a moan at the feel of you, the strength of his chest rising and falling in shaky breaths as you make him yours over and over.

The soft little sounds he lets out even at the softest of kisses, the way his perfect lips form around _please_ , the hoarse and desperate sound of his voice as he calls out your name in ecstasy.

Perfect, all of him. And made for this, for _you_.

_You turn your head to press yet another kiss to the heated skin under your cheek, smiling up at Ivar from your place laying on his chest._

_There’s still the faint redness on his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, and you still find it disarmingly adorable._

_“Still blushing, love?” You tease softly, and Ivar offers a smile that is still part embarrassed and part overwhelmed._

_He swallows thickly before answering, “I…It was…_ interesting _, fun, how you…”_

_“Took charge?” You supply, tilting your head to the side, “You like it when I order you around, love?” You tease, but in the way his eyes widen just a fraction, in the way they fall from yours and his lips part looking for an answer before he fails to give voice to any, you realize the truth. Excited, overjoyed, you whisper, “Oh,_ you do _.”_

_Ivar frowns slightly, apprehension making his body -previously relaxed and pliant under your touch- tense up._

_There’s a slight tremble in his brows, the tell of gritted teeth, when he questions, “Is that…wrong?”_

_“What? No, of course not,” A small nervous laugh leaves your lips, because_ Gods, it is not wrong at all, it is so, so right. _Your fingers trace the side of his face as you continue, “Ivar, I-…remember what you told me when we went on that first date?”_

_“The Gods made us to fit together.” He tells you quietly, not missing a beat. You smile._

_“Well, in more ways than one it seems.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_Throwing caution to the wind, you sit up and follow the path of your fingers as they go over the marks you left on his neck and collarbones, a small smile on your lips as you ask, “How do you feel about letting me tie you up?”_

_Perfect lips part in a small little ‘o’, and a gasp leaves him. Ivar’s eyes search yours, looking for the lie, the trick. When he finds none, he smiles, eager and happy._

Being intimate with him, sharing your body with Ivar and, more importantly, maybe, having him share his body with you, has always been something you both had to work for. It took months for him to even let you see him naked without anything covering his legs, it took even longer for him to feel comfortable letting you touch them, or keep him from touching you, or take his sight from him.

It took time, and trials and fails, a lot of talking and honesty, and a lot of adjustments and a lot of trust; but getting here, to this point where he can surrender and offer himself completely to you, you wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

“You were so good, love,” You coo softly, though there’s a deviousness in your smile as you move down his body, straddling him and keeping both of your hands on each side of his head. “And you look so perfect like this, tied up and helpless and _mine_.”

It is at the last word that he makes this soft little sound, tilting his head back and baring his throat to you. Oh, and you want to give in to that siren song, and mark his neck with bites and kisses, and put your hand over his throat tight enough to make him let out the most delectable sighs and moans.

But you resist, keeping your hands off him for the time being.

“If you want me to touch you, Ivar,” You start, a pointed roll of your hips over him. At the feel of his hard cock dragging between your folds a shiver runs down your spine, but it is nothing compared to the tremble you draw out of him, and that is what you focus on. So you do it again, and again, coating his cock in the same wetness that you could still taste on his lips. A whine of your name, and you concede with a light chuckle. Leaning closer, you continue, “You have to _beg_. You were so good for me, you deserve to feel good, you deserve to come for me, but you have to ask.”

“Th-Thank you.”

“So polite,” You coo, giving in for a slight second and lifting one hand off the mattress to run through his loose hair. He leans into the touch, and you melt. “Now beg, love.”

A barely-there second where you think he will fight, resist. Uselessly as it always ends up being, sometimes he likes pretending he wasn’t made for this, for submitting.

But Ivar’s lips part, and his chest rises and falls in a couple of sharp breaths, before he starts, voice hoarse, “Please, touch me. _Please_.”

Hearing that simple little word on his voice will never cease to make you lose focus for a moment, and you grind against him again, making Ivar let out a choked shout that once would have been your name.

Deciding to indulge, since he has been so good after all, you let your hands trail over his shoulders, his chest, his sides, greedily taking in the way his breath quickens and his skin flushes at the solace of your touch.

Your mouth trails over his exposed skin too, switching between soft kisses and sharp bites, as you move down his body.

One of your hands stays on him -an old ritual of the two of you by now- as the other grips onto his thigh, and moves his leg to make room for you between them. You always keep watchful eyes on him when you have him like this and decide to touch his legs, for it is still something he struggles with, especially when he can’t see or touch you.

There are days when the pain is worse, and you don’t mean the ache in his bones. And in those days he can’t stand to have you touch them, or even look at them; maybe because _he_ can’t.

You always keep a watchful eye, cautious of those days.

But today isn’t one of those days, and there’s barely any tell in Ivar’s body that shows you he notices -or is bothered- by it.

You settle between his legs, not able to keep yourself from giving the faintest of licks over the tip of his cock, feeling the knot in your core tighten at the salty taste of him.

With your hand wrapped around the base of him, you wait patiently, knowing you don’t need to give him a command now. You do hate repeating yourself, and he knows better by now.

“Please,” He asks, voice hoarse and head falling back against the pillows. You hum, and lean forward the few inches you need to. Your tongue traces the underside of his cock, from base to tip, drawing the most wretched moan out of him. “ _Gods_!”

“I want your words, love _._ ” You insist, letting him feel your faint breaths on his sensitive skin.

Ivar swallows thickly, licking his lips and opening his mouth a few times before he manages any words.

“Please…take me in your mouth, please, please, I-…”

His words die in a hoarse shout, and Ivar’s back arches off the bed when you finally take his cock in your mouth.

The red silk is striking against his wrists, and it keeps him in place dutifully. Still, as a reminder, your hand travels from his hip to the center of his chest, and you push him back with as little strength as you need.

Ivar falls back obediently, breaths fast and desperate, chest rising and falling so quickly under your hand you feel a pang of heat go through you.

And now you don’t bother teasing him, your head moving up and down expertly, drawing pleas and moans and whimpers from him. Your jaw aches a bit, but you continue, trying your best to take all of him; and you go on for long enough that his head lolls to the side and he can only tremble with each expert move of your head, lips parted and a broken litany of hurried breaths leaving him.

Another drag of your nails over the sensitive skin of his chest, and he complies with your wordless command.

“Please…”

You hum around him, and Ivar threatens to rise off the bed with the arch of his back, and he shouts your name. He is getting close.

But you pull away.

“No!” His head turns, searching blindly for you, and he tugs helplessly at the bindings on his wrists, “No, no, no, _please_ , I-I want to come.”

“And you will,” You promise, biting your lip as you take him in. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his hands are curved into helpless fists and still kept immobile by the red silk, his perfect lips are parted and gasping. You don’t bother resisting the urge, and as you crawl your way back up his body you kiss and bite at the skin you find, before claiming his mouth, tasting yourself and letting Ivar taste himself too. He surrenders so easily, so pliantly, so _obediently_ to your kiss, that it makes the knot of heat at your core tighten. When you pull away, you finish, “But after I’ve had my fun.”

“Please,” He intones, head falling once again back against the pillows. And as your hand settles comfortably at the base of his throat, Ivar only swallows, and his breathing becomes more labored, if possible. And you delight yourself in moments like these, where the only words he can remember are _please_ and your name, where he surrenders completely to you, when you have him completely yours, mindless and overwhelmed and desperate. “Please, I-… _please_ , love.”

You cannot help yourself, and you lean forward and kiss him, sealing his pleas against your lips. Ivar moans against your mouth, and it sends a pang of heat through you to hear him wordlessly beg, to hear how desperate he is for the pleasure only you can give him.

There’s still the taste of you in his mouth, and you taste it when your tongue demands entrance to his mouth, that he freely gives, as freely as he gives all of himself to you.

You part from the kiss, and he tilts his head as if trying to chase the feel of your mouth. You chuckle, and decide to take pity -or torture him further, you don’t think there’s much of a difference between them right now- and trail your mouth over his skin.

You trail down his jaw as your hand settles on his chest that rises and falls sharply, and stop near his heart, feeling its quickened beat with a dark pride surging through you. You did this, you make him feel like this.

You bite down softly at the sensitive skin of his neck as two words ring in your head, sounding like Ivar’s own hoarse and pleading voice: _only you_.

Still, you had a point to make, and after letting your tongue run a slow path up towards that spot under his ear that makes him shiver, you whisper, “Slow down, love, I am nowhere near done with you. You need to calm that breathing of yours.”

Ivar huffs, somewhere in between a laugh and a whine.

“You’re not making it easy,” He quips. Your previously soft touch turns sharper, and you drag your nails down his chest, making sure to get close enough to his nipple to make him arch off the bed, “Ah!”

“Don’t talk back,” You warn sternly, but you betray a smile at the way he swallows thickly, a choked moan kept at bay by stubborn lips that press together. You grab his chin in your hand, and force his lips to part. “And don’t keep any of those pretty sounds of yours from me, Ivar. I want to hear you.”

After a tremulous breath, he asks, voice quiet, “Why?”

You know him well enough to know when he is not-so-subtly asking for praise, and while at any other time you would make him use clear words -and pretty pleas- to earn that praise, tonight you indulge.

“Because I love the sound of your voice,” You tell him softly by his ear, taking his earlobe between your teeth for just long enough to make him shiver, “All those lovely sounds you make for me, they make me so wet, make me want you so much.

You notice his breathing slowed down a bit, and the smile that curves his lips is almost bashful, almost boyish. The gentle warmth of being praised, of being reminded of how wanted and loved and desired he is.

So, you continue, softly, lowly,

“You’re so perfect, love, and you sound so good when you beg, when you moan my name,” As if compelled, as if under a spell, Ivar says your name, a prayer leaving his lips in a low sigh. “I always want to hear you.”

He takes in your words, parted lips that still sport the faintest of smiles.

“I…I want you,” He tells you, and your eyes are drawn to his arms where they strain faintly against the bindings that keep him from touching you. Ivar insists, “ _Closer_. Please.”

“How close, love?” You tease, even as you move to straddle him again, feeling the insistent press of his cock against you. His breathing starts becoming labored again, and you smile, “You want to make me come, Ivar? You think you can?”

“Fuck,” He groans through gritted teeth as you hold yourself over him, one hand low on his stomach, aching to grab a hold of him and guide him inside you. “Y-Yes, I can. I…I want to.”

You offer no words, but with painful slowness, that tortures both you and him, you take him inside you. Feeling the satisfying stretch of his cock inside you, you start moving, slowly at first.

Before long the pleasure builds, and as you move faster and faster above him, you lift one hand from his chest to use your fingers where you’re connected to bring yourself closer to the edge.

Even though he can’t see you, knowing you’re touching yourself as you ride him makes Ivar strin agains the silk bindings, and his breathing shakes and trembles as it leaves his lips.

“T-Tell me, what you’re doing, I-…please.” He begs, one last whisper of _please_ following the low moan of his name you let out before answering.

“You like knowing I can make use of you to make myself feel good, don’t you?” You taunt, your words interrupted by a moan of your own. Your breathing is fast, and your thighs tremble, but you still talk, voice rough and low, “You like it when I have you helpless underneath me, and I make myself come using your body however I want,” Muttered curses and low moans of affirmation are his answer, and you continue, “Hmm, and I like having you for me to do as I please, _mine_.”

Ivar’s voice raises with a mix of pleas and desperate calls of your name, and seeing him lose himself in you, in the pleasure only you give him, makes you go higher, higher, until you lose yourself.

The aftershocks that travel through you like electricity leave you frozen in time for a few breaths, heart beating fast in your ears and your head tilted back, still feeling him deep inside you, desperate for release.

You start moving again slowly, but before long you pick up the pace, and your hands that previously soothed and caressed now are the sharp but still gentle drag of your nails over his skin, making him shiver and whimper.

“Come for me, Ivar,” You order, a sharp movement of your hips, a conscious tightening of your muscles around him. He gasps, “I want you to come for me.”

His body is pulled tight, a show of restraint in more ways than one, and he still has it in him for one last plea,

“Kiss me.”

The moment your lips press against his, a desperate moan rumbles its way through his chest, and you tighten further around him.

Your mouth moves softly over his, the sharp contrast of your fast movements above him, and with a sharp cry of your name he parts from your kiss, brow pressed against yours, breaths almost one.

Greedy eyes rake over his features as Ivar’s face contorts in pleasure, as perfect, kiss-bitten lips form around the shape of your name over and over as he lets go.

And it is in this, in the way he gives all of himself to you, in the way he surrenders, in the way he becomes _yours_ , in the way he gives in to the pull of the current ant trusts you to take him safely to shore; that you lose your breath, your thought, your heart.

One of your hands stays intertwined with his, the other finding purchase on his chest to keep you moving. And your movements slow down as he comes down, your kisses become more reverent as his body relaxes further and further.

In between soft presses of your lips, you whisper your praise, your reassurance of how well he did, of how happy he made you.

He offers half-formed responses and smiles that look a little mad, but he still sighs your name when you promise _I love you_ against his lips, and that is enough reassurance for you.

Keeping as much of you pressed against him as possible, you reach up and tug on the fastening of red silk, his arm falling limply to the bed, now that there’s no bindings keeping it up. You smile, and reach for the other one, repeating the same steps.

One of your hands runs back and forth over his upper arm as you press a few kisses to the side of his jaw and under his ear.

Ivar hums, happy and content, and you smile against his skin.

“You good, love?”

He hums again, blindly turning to you and tilting his head, expecting the kiss you readily give. You kiss him, softly and lovingly, your hand still absently running over his skin, touching him wherever you can reach, a comfort for him as much as for you.

You tell him quietly that you are going to remove the blindfold, and Ivar nods, a small mumble of thanks to your warning.

_“I want to see you,” He demands, and this time when his voice trembles it only makes you cold. You freeze and lift your hands off of him. He sucks in a sharp breath when he doesn’t feel you against him anymore though, “D-Don’t, don’t l-leave me here, don’t-…love, I-…”_

_Your hands cup his face, and you quieten his panicked words with your touch. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and you hope he doesn’t notice how your hands tremble._

_“Ivar, I’m here. Not going anywhere,” You promise, fingers reaching up to skim over the edge of the blindfold, “Do you want me to take this off?”_

_He nods, a little frantically, “I want to see you. I don’t…I-I can’t know what you’re thinking. You can see me and I, uh, I can’t know what you’re-…”_

_“Shh, it’s okay.” You whisper, your hand reaching for the back of his head only to be stopped by his own hand gripping onto your wrist._

_Wide eyes look at his hand and find only reddened skin, the rope dangling uselessly from the headboard. Ivar’s grip on you is not too tight, but it still speaks of urgency, and you choose not to focus on how easily he broke past your bindings, instead leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the back of the hand that now holds on to you._

_“Tell me you love me.” He asks, voice trembling even as he grits his teeth._

_Your heart lurches in your chest, and past the need to reassure him, past the instinct to soothe and keep safe you feel a dreaded seed of fear at the tip of your stomach._

_“I love you, Ivar, of course I do,” You whisper vehemently, a caress of your free hand on the side of his face, “Nothing changed since I put this on you, sweetheart. Let me look into your eyes and prove it to you.”_

_You take off the blindfold, and there’s the faint trace of moisture on the corners of his eyes, and your chest pulls tight. But you hold your ground, soft touches as you bring him back to you, back to the certainty and the steadiness of just the two of you._

Pale blue eyes blink a few times before focusing on you, and you cannot stop yourself from making them fall shut once again by leaning close and kissing him, softly and slowly.

A small sound leaves Ivar’s lips as you pull away, somewhere between a complaint and a moan.

“You did so well,” You tell him, a kiss over the corner of his mouth, “This was so fun,” Another kiss, this time on the old scar on his cheekbone. Leaning a bit further back, enough to meet his eyes and smile at him, you tell him, “I’ll be right back.”

A quick trip to the bathroom to get everything in order, and on the way back you grab a bottle of water, taking a few grateful sips as you walk back to the bed. You hand it to Ivar when you return, and he thanks you with a tilt of his head.

You allow yourself to relax against him after he discards the bottle on the nightstand, sighing against his still heated skin.

A small hum of contentment, his hand falling over the arm you draped over his chest, in the barely-there tightening of his grip on you a request for you to get closer.

When you do, Ivar closes the distance and kisses you again, intensity behind the press of his lips on yours even if there’s the undercurrent of being satiated and too-tired to start over in each of his movements. And yours, if you’re honest.

“Thank you.” He tells you quietly, and it is for more than it seems, so you only smile and shake your head.

“Thank _you_ , love.”

He huffs a laugh, turning on his side and you do the same. Ivar lifts one hand to move your hair away from your face, and your eyes are drawn to the faint marks the silk left on his skin, seeing them as yours as the bite marks on his neck and chest, as the trails of pink your nails left on his skin.

“I love you.” He tells you, quietly. It always is a secret, the way the three words leave his lips. Thankfully, long gone is the fear of rejection that used to coat the admission at the beginning, but there’s still a hesitation to it, a shakiness.

And so he always says it like the last words before a dream is to shatter, like the unwavering promise that still carries the irrational fear of _happiness is nothing_.

“And I love you.” You tell him, moving even closer and accepting the request his hand at the back of your head insists on, tilting your head back and meeting his kiss again.

You lose yourself in the soft and languid feel of Ivar’s kiss, quiet and content and finding solace in the simple feeling of each other’s skin. When you part you are on your back, and he holds himself above you on his elbow.

With one last kiss and a soft press of his brow against yours, Ivar leans his weight on you, moving so that his head rests against your chest, his arm secure around your waist.

With one hand absently tracing his back and the other going up and down the arm that he wrapped around you, you lose track of time.

“You are…” He stops, adjusts himself on his place, before trying again, “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, you know? And I don’t mean because of _this_ , I mean…” Ivar sighs, a barely-there moment where his arm holds you to him a little tighter, and confesses, “I had never known what it was like to feel…safe, loved, before you.”

“Ivar…”

He lifts his head slightly, looks at you, offers you a smile that is a little crooked, as if he isn’t making your heart tremble in your chest.

“You know this already, it shouldn’t surprise you. And you know _me_ , and you love me,” There’s an edge of wonder in his voice when he says that. He looks into your eyes, and promises quietly, “I thank the Gods for you, ever since that first day,” His smile turns surer, a little mad, “I’ll spend the rest of my life with you, woman.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And what about what _I_ want?” You tease, fingers running through his loose hair.

He goes along with your game, and there’s a shine in his eyes that speaks of familiar defiance.

“Contrary to what you seem to think, princess, I don’t like being denied.”

“I never deny you,” You retort, a light chuckle on your lips, “I just…delay.”

“Hm, I don’t like delays either.”

“I know, you’re too impatient. That’s why I have those.” You motion with your head to the red silk ribbons that hang from the headboard.

Ivar chuckles quietly, but says nothing against it, dropping his head against your chest again and sighing.

Your smile doesn’t dim, even if it becomes softer, move lovesick. You press a kiss over his hair, and with the solid but comfortable weight of him against you, you close your eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thank you for reading! I hope this was okay! Would love to hear your thoughts on this one! Love ya!
> 
> Btw, the title is in reference to Fenrir’s Binding with Gleipnir, which is supposed to be “soft and smooth as a silken ribbon, but (..) sure and strong” (Gylfaginning). I took it to mean the underlying aspects of submission, especially with a gentler domme (how when you tie him up with something he can break easily, it is something stronger than that silk what’s keeping him from breaking free. Same thing with any act of submission, it doesn’t necessarily have to involve bondage of course), and also to refer to the Ivar himself when in that submissive position. Anyway, yes, for that heretic take the Gods probably frown down upon me.


End file.
